i still like coffee

your foot grazed mine
that chilly afternoon
i will tell you this later
next month
or last
and you will deny it

my feet sat quietly
(with the rest of me)
in puddle-soaked shoes
from standing water
outside
i will wade in
later today
as i wait for you

your car is green

do you remember
that night
later this evening
when your beautiful sparkling
blue-green eyes
filled with wonder
and secrets
that my heart desires
averted their attention
from my own

i don't even remember
the color of my eyes
i never look at them
not anymore
not in a long while
not ever before
but i remember when you glance
a gaze
into them
i recall the fluttering of my soul
as it flies out of my body
to fill all the space
in the room around me

do you remember that morning
tomorrow
when you will wake up
and not think a moment about that space
you caused my soul to fill
because i will
and do
and have
for a while
and for always

make me a liar
you've done made me a fool

fatigue

Who makes the rules about life?
And whycome none of these rules give people the freedom
for their hearts to sing lyrics and ballads?
Instead we are robots
to the rules
and definitions
this is terribly disconcerting to me
especially tonight, for some reason.
Tonight...on this eve of tomorrow.
And what is tomorrow, but another day
another opportunity for singing
but yet I am fearful
fearful that it is none of this
it is only another awakening,
another fulfillment of rules,
another rising and falling of the sun
and with it my soul,
it is only tomorrow
another abiding of definition
and I fear
I will ne'er sing
or laugh
or dance
only when I am told to do so.

going hunting...be back later

"I told my cat I was going hunting."
she told me from across the silver make-shift desk.
I handed her the pen.
Her withered fingers grasped it firmly as she signed.
The man next in line unbrilliantly muffled a laugh.
I smiled knowingly to him
and then to her.
She hummed to herself
with not a care in the world.
Suddenly I wanted to be her.
Her, who was going home to see her cat.
Her cat who loved only her and cared for no one else.
Her cat who was her life partner in her old age.

I placed the milk in her buggy
and she was off.
Off to hunt
and strip a chicken's feathers.
Off to bait a hook.
Off to get into her car,
and go home to feed her cat.

And I held back tears.
Tears of jealousy.
I want a cat to come home to
who looks at me like I am the center of a universe.
Not because he has to but because I am.

that night when you taught me to speak my mind

One hundred orange skies later
In yesterday’s dawn
Sat a girl
With a book on her knee
And ink on her left index finger

She remembered the ink
It was blue
Like the sea
It glistened in her mind
Spoofing the cerulean surf
Of her forgotten memories

It was a familial blue
It smelled like sadness
And it tasted like iron
It felt like the loveliest tulips
As they billowed in the breeze
Brushing her ankle
Which lay soft on the grass beneath her

Vertigo

Turn
Stand
Sit
Roll over
I'm there
No I'm not a doggie
I'm Vertigo

Mezicline
Metroblah-bbity blah
They are the sustenance of this condition
and they make it difficult
to do much of anything
without needing a power nap or two
after every other commercial

where did myself go
it is trapped on the couch
in front of a screen
or typing away on this screen
for any definitional reason
found in the books in which I indulge myself
in hopes of escaping
this torturous thing
they wrote on that paper
and i want to ball up those minute grains of wood
and set the ink ablaze
and go back to work
and be me again
the me that you loved
the one that i hope you miss
the one that doesn't make you the way you are now
about the way i am now
and the way that i don't want to be
the slightest version of the me i continue to be

the scent of lavender

remember
that month
every curve of all the inches of my body
were nestled into that of yours
and we came out
out from behind the wall of a secret
that day, last hour
to reach across boundaries
into the collective conscious
of our desire
and we discovered
mutual identity

but that was so long ago
so long ago now
that you dare not remember it
even when i reach back into the bucket of us
and show it to you

i have never before
gazed into the eye of the tomorrow sun
only to have it stare right back at me
though i cared not to see a reflection
i longed to see a yearning
and your stare painted such a picture

a picture of your lovely face
sunken into the pillow of my bleeding heart
each night i find you dreaming
and each morning i leave you asleep

a picture of a song
from the album of you
and of me
of the we
for which we speak
and breath and sing
as all of these feelings
exist not in the reel of time

i wanted to be the dew on your face
when you wake up from camping outdoors without
the shelter of a tent

i wanted to be the thrust of your abdomen
in the longest seconds
between the two of us

i wanted to be the cold chill
that runs from the inside of your ear
all the way to your roundest curve

i wanted to be the you that you wanted me
to be

and these are the ways i longed for you to want me
and you wanted to long for me
but you didn't know how

i tried
i tried to show show you the when, where and why
so you could compose the stuff
of our next moments together
but you didn't want to try

and these thises and thats are okay
perhaps someone else will do this
and i will do that with them
but i know when they and i do
you will as well
and then what will the well
of our wills become?